Up, Up, and Away: 100 OneShots
by The Integral of Awesome
Summary: Goal: 100 Static Shock one-shots. Current Completed: 7. Latest- A Chance Encounter: It was the last place Richie had expected him.
1. I Don't Remember

**Word Count: 880**

**Summary: People always say they don't remember a thing. Truth is, though, they do.**

**Rating: T**

I Don't Remember (1)

They'd finally caught him, and he didn't remember a thing. The bang-baby had possessed him for _three days_, and he didn't remember a thing. What in heavens name were they supposed to do now? Haunter could be anyone, could be anywhere. He was probably already in someone else's body, planning to commit some terrible crime, and they're only lead, this son-of-a-gun, couldn't remember a _thing_.

Virgil checked himself. It wasn't the guy's fault. This was the _victim_. Haunter had hijacked his body, stuck him in the back seat of his own life. If he didn't remember, then he didn't remember.

Still, Virgil couldn't help the way his heart drummed in his ears. Haunter wasn't just some hoodlum. He was seriously whacked, and all Virgil's superhero-senses were telling him to stop the bang baby _right now_. Virgil was desperate; innocent people were getting caught in the crossfire, and their one and only hope had run dry.

Virgil slapped the thought away. They _always_ had hope.

Already turned around, ready to fly off and scour the city (although for _what_ he couldn't say), Virgil saw Richie pause, cast a wary glance at Virgil, and then take three steady steps toward the man. Virgil slowly turned back to examine his friend, feeling inexplicably nervous, one of those gut-feelings Richie always mocked yet respected him for.

"You know," Richie started, his voice uncharacteristically shaken, "people always say they don't remember a thing. It's easier that way. If you don't remember, then you don't have to deal. Maybe it can be like it didn't happen at all."

Richie swallowed. "The truth is that they do remember. Maybe not all of it, and that makes the lies feel more real. Hell, maybe you can even convince yourself for a little while that you really don't remember any of it, but that never lasts. It comes back, it always will, to haunt you in ways you don't want to imagine. The memories won't go away, no matter how many times you say you don't remember a thing."

Richie hadn't glanced back at Virgil since he'd started talking, staring unfailingly into the man's eyes. At first Virgil had wanted to see his best friend's eyes, to try to read the emotion in them, but the more Richie spoke, the more Virgil feared that he already knew what Richie was thinking about. Maybe he didn't want to see, after all.

"You were trapped. You watched him do terrible things, and you couldn't stop it long enough to warn somebody. You know it wasn't your fault, but that doesn't make it hurt less because you had no control. You had started to loose hope that you'd ever lift your own arm again, and now that you've got your body back, you're not taking any chances. If remembering brings him back, if there's even the smallest possibility, then you won't do it. The stakes are too high.

"I know you're scared, Jacob.-" Becker, Virgil remembered dimly. Jacob Becker was his name. "-You can still feel him in you. You keep thinking what he would have done, what he would have said. You're afraid and hurt, and you just want it all to be behind you. I hate to break it to you, though, but this won't just go away. You can keep pushing it down for years if you want, but it only gets worse. Every second you cringe back from the memories, every second your heart beats a little faster because of him is another second he's beaten you."

Richie's shoulders were squared. He looked like a soldier marching off to battle, not the goofy teen Virgil knew so well. "There's a way you can fight, a way you can stand up to him. Help us catch him. You know who he is. You probably know where he'll strike next. All we're asking is that you take control. Don't let him win anymore; he doesn't deserve it."

Jacob looked at Richie in utter silence, watching him for what felt like hours, and Virgil noticed for the first time how unnerved he looked. Virgil had been so focused on catching bang-baby, he'd barely seen the victim.

Finally, with the silence heavy enough to drown a man, he spoke, voice enough to make Richie's sound firm. "I couldn't stop him. He has a plan, an awful plan. He wants to break into Alva industries, to steal something. I think he wants to kill people with it. Lots of people. He was going to go to a woman named Cecily. She works for Alva, has a pass key to get in. She's tall, brunette, and middle-aged, has two kids, Brian and Jen. He doesn't care about them, though. He's going to use her up, like he used me." The man's eyes collapsed to the ground. "That's all I know."

Richie put his hand on the guy's shoulder, actually reached out and touched him. "Thank you."

Virgil was still staring like an idiot when he realized that Richie had already flown off. He cleared his throat, trying to sound authoritative, and said, "Um, yes, thank you for your help. Must be going now. Villains to catch and all. Crime to stop."

He flew away quickly to keep himself from blubbering any more nonsense.


	2. Misplaced

**Word Count: 1200**

**Summary: Virgil wasn't lost. End of story.**

**Rating: K/K+**

Misplaced

Virgil wasn't lost. Men don't get lost, and Virgil was most certainly a man.

At a young age, Virgil had watched his father drive around with virtually know trajectory and _still_ insist that he wasn't lost, and Virgil had deduced this philosophy and that he, henceforth, would never get lost again.

The logic didn't make the most sound argument in the world, but Virgil looked up to his father, respected the man, idolized him. Virgil had always thought that the surest way to become a great man was to follow in his father's footsteps. Some people (Richie) might claim that emulating his father didn't have to include silly things like wandering around with the firm belief that he wasn't lost, but Virgil didn't make a habit out of only following through half-way. Besides, the whole "real men don't get lost" thing still sounded pretty legitimate to Virgil.

Richie, on the contrary, had been maintaining that they were lost for the last four hours and that there was nothing, genetically speaking, about admitting it that made him less of a man. He proceeded to spout off words that sounded smart, pretentious, and made-up, and Virgil could only assume that these words were destined to prove one of his assessments (if not both) true. Virgil's counter-argument consisted of him stubbornly shaking his head and re-iterating in a way that Richie, traitor that he was, equated to pounding his chest with his fist. In Virgil's opinion, he won.

In all honesty, Virgil could understand why Richie thought he was lost. They had been driving for seven hours, though the trip was only supposed to take five, and had yet to come across anything that looked familiar, except for the old, abandoned farm house that Richie insisted they had passed six times already. Virgil was sure, though, that they would pass the exit for HWY 119 any minute, and it was only an hour or so back home from there.

And wouldn't it be ridiculous, Virgil reasoned, to stop and ask for direction when they were _so close_ to the exit? It would be like asking someone to pass the salt when it was sitting right in front of him. Richie was just being unreasonable.

The pair had traveled these great lengths to go to Comic Con, an occasion well worth any drive. Though they easily would have gone by choice, their placement had actually been requested by Batman, the Caped Crusader himself, as there had been heavy rumors flying about possible attacks, big names cropping up that made the crime-fighter unsettled. Batman had reasoned that 1) Virgil and Richie (in civvies, naturally) would blend in far better as two geeky teenagers than most League members and 2) he was aware that Virgil and Richie were going to be there regardless, and the idea of a vacation simply didn't compute.

At the time, Richie had scoffed and muttered something about snooping, superior superheroes that had no right tracking their movements and requesting missions of them with next-to-no warning and little appreciation. Virgil couldn't help but smile a little at that. Considering the degree to which Richie idolized the League members, it always amused him how openly disgruntled his friend could be. Of course, the League's general disdain for him and preference of Virgil for League consideration had spurned this indignation, and Virgil hardly thought that was a laughing matter.

The Justice League had shown interest in Richie's intelligence and capability, but he had never jumped up on their radar as real "hero potential". Virgil, on the other hand, felt a little like one of those star athletes being courted by one of the best colleges in the nation. Various members of the Justice League had spoken to Virgil in unhidden interest in his imminent joining. Virgil had been ecstatic, exuberant, until he noticed the distinct lack of tide towards Richie's side of the lake.

Batman had shown some interest in Richie, recruiting him for tinkering, researching, and inventing jobs when he wouldn't even trust Virgil to run to the grocery store, but somewhere along the way even he had drawn his line in the sand. Richie was a smart kid, a decent crime fighter, the elder half of the Dynamic Duo had once confessed to Virgil in a rare bout of revelation, but he just wasn't made for crime fighting. Virgil knew Richie could get a gig building and designing for the League, but he also knew they wouldn't be extending the kind of invitation Richie had his heart set on.

They'd sat down and talked about it once. It had been a short, awkward conversation where Richie had pretty much told Virgil that he was fine with it and that he didn't want to hold Virgil back, no matter if the League wanted _him_ or not, but the sentiment hadn't settled Virgil's stomach all that much. The thought of joining up without his best friend made him more than a little uneasy, but at the same time the thought of joining up at all sent his heart soaring up through the roof. It was conflicting and confusing, and Virgil wished the Justice League could just get over whatever they had against Richie and take to him they way they'd taken to Virgil.

Of course, all thoughts better left for another time aside, neither Richie nor Virgil saw any action at the convention, outside roleplaying. Virgil hadn't gotten any word from the higher ups (another thing Richie mumbled bitterly about in a way that Virgil assumed he wasn't supposed to hear) and could only assume that Batman had either already caught the culprits or had proven the accusations false after all.

A few days of later, they faced their biggest obstacle: the drive back home. Virgil's father had allowed him to borrow his car on the condition that Virgil returned it home, safe and in the _exact_ same condition that he left with it in. Virgil had no intention of doing any less. Richie had snidely commented, about an hour back, that Virgil was lucky getting lost didn't cause physical damage to the car because then Virgil would be returning a pile of twisted metal to his father. Virgil hadn't found the joke all that funny.

"It's going to be the next exit. I have a good feeling about this," Virgil said, smiling a little. Richie just rolled his eyes, silent for the first time in his life.

The next exit was not HWY 119, nor was the next, nor the next, after which they passed an old, abandoned farmhouse that Virgil had to admit was starting to look a little familiar.

"Maybe we should just stop and ask for directions. I have Backpack stored under the false bottom in the trunk, I could fish him out and have us back on track in no time," Richie suggested for the hundredth time.

Virgil said nothing in reply, relying on his stoic silence to convey his conviction. His hands remained squarely at ten and two, and he made no indication that he planned on pulling over and asking for directions like a _girl _anytime soon.

Richie sighed, head sinking in defeat and despair. "We're never going to get home."


	3. Hospitals

**Word Count: 1500**

**Summary: "I tripped," Richie said, and Virgil knew it was a lie.**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Mentions of abuse.**

Hospitals (3)

Sitting in the hospital waiting room while time ticked forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, Virgil, head slumped into his hands, wondered how he'd let it get this far. After all, he was supposed to be Richie's friend and, more than that, his _best_ friend. He had countless late-night video game contests and superhero-ing and general tomfoolery to attest to that.

It wasn't like Virgil hadn't felt that strange twitch in his stomach that something wasn't quite right with Richie, but he'd ignored it, brushing it off like a meaningless wrinkle in his otherwise spectacular life. He was no better than the monster who'd done this to his _best friend_.

No, he was better, or at least he would be.

Of course, the question was _how_. It wasn't as if Richie was being tons of help, although Virgil was hardly going to place the blame on _him_.

"I tripped," Richie had said. He'd _said_ it, like it was the truth. Like, sitting in his hospital bed with a thick, white bandage wrapped tightly around his head and cuts and bruises spattered over his body in discolored smudges, it _could_ be the truth.

"Down the _stairs_, Richie?"

He didn't make eye contact for a moment, and that, above all else, told Virgil 147% that Richie was lying to him (and Richie _never_ lied to him), but then he looked up, straight into Virgil's eyes, and said, grinning all the while, "Yeah, how clumsy can I get, right?"

It wasn't the having fallen down the stairs bit that Virgil had a hard time ingesting but rather the _tripping_ bit, especially with a dark bruise blossoming over Richie's eye in a way Virgil had seen a hundred times before. He'd lived in Dakota, with bullying and gang-fights and _abuse_, for long enough to know an accident from an "accident."

Even though it had rapidly become so obvious to him, he didn't work out that his _father_ knew until a heavy hand came gently down to rest on his shoulder. Virgil looked up to see his dad's eyes, warm and firm, staring down at him, and _of course_ his dad would know. Working at the Center, his dad had _seen _this. He'd seen dozens of kids just like Richie walk in his doors. And then walk back out.

So had, Virgil belatedly realized, Sharon, which was probably why she was still hanging around, even though the doctors had already told them (although Virgil wasn't sure if they were necessarily _supposed_ to tell non-family members, but screw it because Richie _was_ family, goddamn it) that Richie would be fine, that he just needed rest, that it was just a _minor_ concussion (they made it sound like a _minor_ concussion wasn't still a freaking _concussion_).

But it was the understanding that Virgil had come to, the fears that had been confirmed in his father and sister, _that_ was why they were all still there, even though Richie would be fine, even though they were supposed to leave him alone and let him rest. They couldn't leave now because they _knew_. Sitting three seats down from Mrs. Foley, staring determinedly at her hands, red hair hiding her eyes, they _knew_.

Then, at that exact moment, with his father on one side and Sharon on the other, the waiting room doors burst open and in walked the _last_ man Virgil wanted to see (or maybe he was the _first_). Towering like a giant, footsteps thundering in the quiet hospital, he went immediately to Mrs. Foley, gruff voice grounding out, "Is he alright?" like he had any right to worry, to care.

Mr. Foley hadn't arrived at the hospital with Mrs. Foley and Richie because he'd been "working", even though Virgil _knew_- even though Richie had _told_ him that he couldn't hang out because his dad was going to be home, because his dad got angry when Richie didn't spend enough time at home, because his dad knew where Richie went instead.

Virgil didn't realize he was clenching his fists until the large hand still resting comfortably on his shoulder _squeezed_ just a little, and his father leaned down to whisper, "This isn't the place, Virgil," so quietly in his ear that not even Sharon could hear, although Virgil doubted she needed to be told. She reached down silently, taking Virgil's hand in hers, and he looked over at her, shocked to see that his sister, tough and bossy and _unbreakable_, had been crying.

Then his father was standing, towering like a giant in a way so different from how Mr. Foley had looked. He walked over to the Foleys, and his footsteps didn't thunder, but they sure as hell echoed, bouncing off the walls like church-bells, and Virgil was just so _glad_ that his father was here because he wouldn't know what to do without him, he wouldn't know how to handle this.

This wasn't a thug or a bang-baby that Virgil could shoot lightening bolts at. This was _Richie_.

And now his father was standing in front of the Foleys, and Virgil had never heard Mrs. Foley answer her husband's question, but her voice was so quiet that maybe he just hadn't noticed. And Mr. Foley was looking eye-to-eye with Virgil's dad because he'd never kneeled down next to his wife, and his eyes were hard but they were also scared, and _dammit_ the bastard looked _concerned_. He looked freaking _concerned_ because the Hawkins' were still there, and he took that to mean that Richie wasn't alright because he didn't _know_ that they _knew_.

"Is my boy alright?"

And maybe that was why Richie had looked Virgil in the eye and told him that he'd tripped down the stairs because in that moment, with Richie's dad so scared, saying the words like "my boy," Virgil could picture his own father, rushing into the hospital, needing to know that his son was safe. It was only a glimpse, it was only a moment, but suddenly this man wasn't just a _monster_, he was Richie's _father_, and Virgil was brought unexpectedly back to the time Richie had run away, when Richie's father had searched for him _desperately_, when he'd said things like "my boy."

Robert Hawkins's voice broke Virgil free of the strange trance the words had pulled him into. "Maybe we should talk outside, just the two of us."

Mr. Foley didn't move. "Tell me how my son is."

"Richie is fine. He's resting. Now, if you would accompany me outside, we have some things we need to talk about, _alone_."

"What's this about, Robert?" It seemed so strange for Mr. Foley to address to his father that way, so casually, until he remembered that the two men had formed something of a friendship since their rocky beginning. His dad wasn't just hurt because Richie was hurt, his dad was hurt because he'd been betrayed by a _friend_.

"Sean, this isn't the time or the place. Richie needs his rest and-"

"Don't tell me what my son needs, Hawkins!"

"Maybe he's right, Sean," Richie's mother began to say, and Virgil realized that he hadn't heard her speak in a long while. "Maybe you should-"

"Now don't you start on me, too, Maggie-"

Mr. Foley's voice was gaining volume, until Mr. Hawkins's hand came down on his shoulder and _squeezed_, and it was nothing like when his hand came down on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed. That had been comforting; this was _restraining._

"Calm down and come with me. You've done quite enough to Richie already."

That's when it hit Mr. Foley. In that moment, his entire being shifted, and Virgil got the idea that now _Richie's_ safety was the last thing on his mind. He looked caught, trapped, and, above all, mad. "I don't know what exactly you think you're insinuating-"

"I'm not insinuating, anything, Foley. I'll say what I know, plainly, but not here, not now. Richie needs his rest." There was something in his father's voice that Virgil had never heard before, and it made him shiver.

This time, Mr. Foley didn't argue because he knew if he did, he'd cause a scene, and then security would be called, and everyone would be watching them, and Richie's injuries were suspicious enough without all the extra attention. This, time, Mr. Foley turned around and followed Virgil's father outside, where they could talk and argue, where Mr. Foley could get angry and yell and punch walls without the fear of disrupting Richie.

Virgil didn't know what his father would say to Mr. Foley. Virgil didn't know what they could do, if Richie denied it. Domestic abuse went untried and unpunished all the time. There were too many cases and too few lawyers, and the victims were always reluctant, so they just dropped off the radar. Women and children stayed in dangerous situations. No one helped them.

But Virgil's father, he could do it. And Virgil, too. Even Sharon, they were all Richie's family. They'd find a way. They had to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have a couple different versions of Mr. Foley I like to use. One, obviously, is this one, an abusive man who, though he cares for his son, is often overcome by anger. Sometimes I even like a completely repentant Mr. Foley who really did give up his racist ways (one day at a time) and is now trying to be the best father he can be for Richie. Basically, not all my portrayals of Mr. Foley will be this extreme, and, more often than not, my Mr. Foley will fall in between the above two examples.**


	4. The Day the Oven Stood Still

**Word Count: 2000**

**Summary: This was torture, and Virgil wasn't going to stand for it any longer.**

**Rating: K+**

The Day the Oven Stood Still (4)

Virgil slammed his fist down on the counter, outrage coursing through his veins. This wasn't acceptable; it just couldn't be happening. Of all the terrible things that could have happened, Virgil was sure that this was the absolute, 100%, most terrible, atrocious crime of the century.

Sharon was cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

"She can't do this, Rich. I'll suffer through her watery eggs; I'll even stomach her burnt soups, but I draw the line here. I won't ingest another one of Sharon's Thanksgiving day disasters. I just can't do it again."

Richie was lying back on Virgil's bed, mindlessly tossing a zap cap up in the air, throw-catch-repeat. "I don't know, V. Maybe you're overreacting just a _little_-"

"There is no overreacting," Virgil said, leaning down to get close to Richie, fire burning in his eyes, "when it comes to Sharon's cooking."

Richie sat up from the bed, lazily pushing his glasses back up his nose as they slid down. "I feel your pain, bro', but what can you-"

Virgil jumped to his feet, lips twitching into a devilish smirk. "I know exactly what I can do! I have the perfect plan."

To say Richie was a little hesitant would be like saying the Roman Emperors were a little dysfunctional. "What is it?"

Virgil cast a quick glance over his shoulder and crept toward the door like he thought he was a ninja. He snuck a glance out into the hall, assuring that no one was eavesdropping, and then eased the door closed. Scurrying back over to Richie, the roguish gleam grew brighter in his eyes, and his excitement began to mount.

"We're going to stop Sharon once and for all and save Thanksgiving dinner."

Richie was against the plan. Of course, he would do whatever he could to help Virgil succeed, but he just wanted to go on record saying that he was against the plan, that he didn't expect it to work, and that he would be making fast tracks when this all blew up in Virgil's face (which would almost definitely be before sundown). He decided to tell Virgil so.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man," Virgil said, leaning easily against the counter as Richie tinkered with the stove. Virgil was supposed to be keeping lookout, but Richie wasn't sure how much lookout-ing was actually happening. He didn't think a lot. "This is foolproof."

"Hey, V?" Richie asked, drawing his fingers quickly back with a hiss when two of the wires he'd been tampering with gave off sparks. "Have you ever noticed that whenever you call a plan 'foolproof' it almost always _fails _to succeed?"

Virgil didn't respond, but Richie could _feel_ electricity thrumming in the air. Richie couldn't tell if it was because Virgil was nervous, excited, or annoyed.

Honestly, Richie should have left when Virgil started sounding like a paranoid mental patient, but he was Virgil's best friend, and what are best friends for if not helping out with insane schemes that are ultimately doomed for epic failure of the worst proportions?

"Listen, V, are you sure you want me to do this? It's not too late to turn back."

"No, Rich." Virgil's voice was solid as a rock, and the dry determination freaked Richie out a little. "It has to be this way. This is _the only_ way."

They managed to finish their business in the kitchen before Sharon showed up to shoo them out of her "sacred space" with a spatula so she could "whip up a delicious Thanksgiving dinner".

From there, Richie's part of the plan was complete, and he wanted to make a speedy get-away for the purposes of being as far away from Sharon as physically possible before Virgil's devious plans fell through on him, but Virgil would see none of that. He insisted Richie remain present in case "by some magical twist of fate" something were to throw Virgil's "flawless plan" off coarse.

So, Richie found himself, against his better judgement, still in the Hawkins house five hours later when Sharon's harpy screech pierced the air.

Virgil's smile in the face of the noise was just not even fair. And also possibly psychotic.

"Virgil!" And suddenly Sharon was standing in the door, smoke all but billowing out of her ears. "I don't know how, but I know this was you."

"Well, this really seems like a family moment, so I'll just be-"

"Sit down, Richie," they both said, at the exact same time. And if that wasn't going to give Richie nightmares for the next month!

"I can't imagine what it is you're talking about, dearest sister of mine," Virgil said sweetly, innocently. He'd never been so transparent.

"Virgil Ovid Hawkins, don't you dare joke with me, boy. This is Thanksgiving dinner, and you are intentionally sabotaging me."

"Sharon, I really don't know what it is you're talking about. Care to enlighten me?"

Richie hadn't thought it was possible for Sharon to get _angrier_, but, boy, was he wrong. Her face was turning at least four different shades of red, and Richie was sure that wasn't strictly healthy.

"The oven, Virgil.-" now it was five, even six "-_The oven_. I see you and your little nerd sidekick-"

"Hey, I resent-"

"Shut up, Richie," the siblings once again cut him off sharply. And, yep, he was definitely going to have nightmares about this.

"-lurking in _my_ kitchen today, and now the oven-"

Virgil smiled up at Sharon, blinking sheepishly through his eyelashes. He was laying the Virgil-charm on thick, and the Virgil-charm was pretty dense to start with. "What exactly is wrong with the oven? Perhaps I could take a look at it."

Sharon snorted viciously. "Of course you know that'll be no use to me _now_. We're supposed to eat Thanksgiving dinner in two hours, Virgil. _Two hours_. My turkey was suppose to have been cooking for the last _five hours_. What exactly are we supposed to do now? Thanksgiving dinner without turkey."

"The turkey didn't cook. Well, shouldn't you have noticed-"

Richie decided that he might as well try to save his skin one more time. "I really think I should be-"

Then, Sharon was glowering down at him with all her unbridled fury. "If you so much as _hint_ at leaving this room one more time-"

Richie gulped audibly and was only saved from further beration by Virgil, his saving grace (even if it was Virgil's fault he was in this situation in the first place).

"-that the oven wasn't working? Don't you have to set those things?"

Sharon was back to glaring at Virgil, nostril flaring (just the right one, like it did when Sharon was _really_ mad), and Richie felt only minimal relief at not being the direct target of Sharon's wrath anymore. "Of course you do, Virgil, but everything appeared to be in working order. The turkey just didn't cook, and that's why I'm just sure it had something to do with-"

"Well, what do you know. That's an awful tragedy, Sharon."

"Awful tragedy my-"

"Say, didn't you mention something about Adam and Thanksgiving earlier?"

Sharon's anger evaporated almost instantly, the way it always seemed to when Adam's name was mentioned. "He did extend an invitation."

Virgil smiled wider, shooting Richie a look of glee that Richie was pretty sure should be illegal. Maybe it already was. "And I bet he has turkey."

Sharon gazed dazedly into the distance for a few more seconds before violently snapping herself back to the present. Her eyes narrowed on Virgil. "I'll give him a call, but don't think this is over, Virgil. Not even for a minute."

And that was how Richie found himself sitting beside Virgil as he and Sharon glared at each other across Adam's table. He'd tried to escape multiple times during the trip across the city, but Virgil and Sharon had boxed him in unforgivingly. It had been terrifying and had only been made worse when Mr. Hawkins seemed almost as uncomfortable as he was.

Death grip turning her knuckles white, Sharon viciously sawed through her meat, and Richie didn't need any imagination to picture _Virgil_ under that knife instead. He wondered idly if Sharon would cut all the way through her plate into the table, like that one scene from _The Incredibles_. Somehow, Richie thought she could do it.

For his part, Virgil was expressing his anger with significantly less violence, but he was smirking like a cocky bastard, and Richie couldn't help but think that the longer Virgil gave that look to Sharon, the worse their punishment would be, and Richie knew there was a punishment coming. Virgil might have been dull enough to think he would get away scott free, but Richie knew better. Richie always knew better these days.

"Would someone please pass the mashed-potatoes?"

Richie was pretty sure they were the first words spoken since Mr. Hawkins had said grace, and he found that he really loved Adam in that moment (because, honestly, Adam was _Rubber-band Man_. Since when did he need _anything_ passed to him?). When he realized that no one was reaching for the mash-potatoes and that he was, actually, closest to them, he reached tentatively forward and grabbed the bowl.

It felt heavier in his hands than Richie thought it had any right to, and he was pretty sure every pair of eyes watched as the bowl slowly passed from his hands to Adam's (although, the weren't sitting next to each other, and Richie was pretty sure Adam had to use his powers to get them, anyway).

Then Adam put his hand over Sharon's (Richie wasn't sure if the look on her face after that was disgusting or sort of romantic, so he didn't analyze it too thoroughly), and Richie felt like it was his duty as Virgil's best friend to try to ease him up a little, too, so he glanced over at Virgil's plate and said, "You gonna eat that, V, or do you want me to take in off your hands?"

After that things went smoother, but only marginally, with Adam and Richie on a near-constant mission to make Sharon and Virgil calm the hell down. Richie would have been more irritated at Mr. Hawkins for not doing _something_ to calm his children, if he didn't realize that Mr. Hawkins had had to deal with this stuff _all the time_ when Virgil and Sharon were kids, and maybe he deserved to be cut a little slack.

Then, as they approached the end of the meal, Sharon's face morphed from a look of utter loathing to this self-satisfied smirk, almost identical to the one Virgil had worn. Finishing off her pie and placing her fork on her plate, Sharon spoke up, "Virgil,-" her voice was very firm "-since Adam was so kind to accept us as guests into his home and since it was _your_ fault we had to come here in the first place-"

"Hey!" Virgil exclaimed, but Sharon held up a hand to silence him. Richie was pretty sure the only reason the hand worked was because Virgil, oblivious as he could be, had also noticed the look growing on Sharon's face and decided that he could only prepare himself for whatever came next if he _knew_ what was coming next.

"_You _can clean up the dishes."

Virgil made a indignant noise, but after _much_ arguing and a disturbing amount of name-calling, it was agreed that it _would_ only be fair if Virgil and Richie (and Richie didn't know when _exactly_ he'd been lumped into that group) would do the dishes.

"Anyway, it can't be that bad," Virgil was saying as they brought their dishes into the kitchen. "All we have to do is toss them all into the dishwasher. No problem."

Then suddenly Sharon was there, leaning against the door like she owned it and _them_ (which, admittedly, was a little true). "Oh, did I forget to mention?" She took a predatory step forward. "Adam's dishwasher is broken."


	5. One is the Loneliest Number

**Word Count: 1800**

**Summary: "Hey, Foley Four-eyes!" **Two can be as bad as one.****

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Mentions of abuse**

One Is the Loneliest Number (5)

Richie was walking to school alone.

He usually walked with Virgil Hawkins A.K.A. Static Shock A.K.A. a video game addict notorious for loosing the TV remote control. They walked to school together, and after enduring the eight hours of state-mandated "education", they went to Virgil's house to play video games, to the Community Center Virgil's pops owned to shoot some hoops, or to the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude (although, between Virgil and Richie and occasional visits from the _Justice League_, when was there ever really solitude?) to prep for their part-time superhero-ing. They would do homework (or, at least, Virgil would do homework while Richie complained that Virgil was still doing homework) and probably eat dinner together. Who knows, Richie might even stay the night.

There had been more than a few nights (school or no) that Richie had spontaneously decided to crash at the Hawkins' house. Sharon made snarky comments about Richie's mooching and Mr. Hawkins would joke that Richie's parents would forget what he looked like, but they never kicked him out, and there was always room for him at the dinner table. Honestly, Richie spent more time there then at his own home. Why, you may ask, was that? Well, therein lies the problem, and the very reason why Richie was not walking to school with Virgil as per norm.

Richie had called Virgil the night before to warn him off, claiming a visit from his grandma and wincing when he could practically _hear_ Virgil's shackles go up. It was in poor taste because Virgil _knew_ that Richie's extended family (and even the family not-so-extended) different take kindly to people under a different ethnic category than themselves, but what had to be done had to be done.

At that point, Richie had yet to decide if he was even going to school, but Richie's dad wasn't working until later in the day, so the decision pretty much made itself. Still, Richie wanted to (for once) limit his exposure to Virgil. He found it incredibly hard to lie to someone he'd known most of his life and trusted with almost all of his secrets.

Almost being the key word.

It wasn't that Richie didn't trust Virgil with the secret, though, because Richie trusted Virgil with his life (literally). The problem was that Richie didn't want Virgil to overreact, which would, inevitably, happen. Like, bulging eyes, Virgil's father, _police_ overreacting. Virgil had a very big heart.

Richie, on the other hand, had a very big brain. He'd thought long and hard about his predicament and had long ago reached a decision. Mostly, the decision consisted of doing nothing at all. He was already sixteen, after all. Almost seventeen. Pretty soon he'd be off at college or living on his own. It would be silly to have gone through the last sixteen years all to throw his life into chaos in the final stretch.

Virgil, being both a Hawkins and so very _Virgil_, would not see it as clearly. Actions would be rash; problems would occur; consequences would be irreversible. Telling Virgil had "Danger Will Robinson" written all over it, and Richie wasn't too keen on taking the elevator up to that disaster waiting to happen.

Besides, Richie was used to it.

The previous night's incident had actually been quite unexpected. He and his dad hadn't gotten into it like that since… well, since Virgil had come over to their house for the first time a little over two years prior, when things had quickly gone to hell and then recovered quite admirably, and his dad had tried after that. He'd really made an effort to understand his son's life.

It had worked, for a little while, but old dogs learn new tricks slowly and slip into old habits quickly, and prodding sleeping dogs always ends with their teeth in your face.

Richie had been playing his usual game of "dodge the dad". Usually, Richie tried to pick nights his dad was working to stay home, but the cease-fire had deceived him, and he'd forgotten what his dad got like when he was really and truly pissed (in both senses of the word).

Yes, Mr. Foley had been messing around in the liquor cabinet after a hard day at work. His dad's shoulders were so tensed they almost touched his ears and his hands kept clenching and unclenching, a nervous habit Richie had once found unnerving.

He knew how to read between the lines, but he hadn't seen any harm in going downstairs to grab a quick snack. After all, even teenage superhero geniuses need to eat. He hadn't expected his dad to be roaming the hallway with a drink in the perfect clumsy-teenage-son-spilling range.

His dad might have let it go with the ear-splintering yelling, but Richie's backside had seen the dirtier side of a dumpster that afternoon, and his stomach was rumpling irritatedly, and the calm months had made Richie a little cocky, so he did the last thing he should have done. Richie talked back to his father.

Now, he was paying for it.

Richie never really considered the "lessons" his father taught him the punishment; he got worse fighting through the hallways of high school. What really smarted on Richie was the way he'd have to avoid Virgil for days at a time. Virgil could read Richie like a book, and Richie just wanted to white out all his pages.

He could handle this on his own.

So, basically, bada bing, bada boom, and Richie's walking to school solo. And late.

Meandering all alone through the empty streets, though, had a few down-sides. Richie rarely worried about the dangers of Dakota since he had become Gear. After all, he faced them head-on everyday, so why be scared? He still continued to forget that he was a lot more fit for not being scared when he was Gear, though. Richie Foley, average (if above average intelligence) teenager, could do very little to the things that go bump in the mid-morning.

Before he knew what was happening, Richie's back was flush with a chain-link fence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sign that was very adamant about keeping people out of the yard. A low growl from behind him punctuated the point perfectly.

None of that was really at the forefront of Richie's mind, though, as a face that had co-stared in many of his nightmares as child invaded his eye-line.

Hotstreak braced his forearm across Richie's chest, getting close enough to really make Richie sweat (with very literal _heat_ radiating off his arms). "Hey, Foley Four-eyes! What's a little loser like you doin' all by your lonesome?"

Richie, though he probably should have exercised extreme digression, rolled his eyes, mouth moving before he realized what he was saying. "That nickname wasn't funny when you made it up in third grade, Francis, and it isn't funny now."

Mind finally catching up with his actions, Richie squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pounding. That was what Hotstreak did. Had always. Scrawny pale kids with thick glasses don't exactly get slack from bully-types, and Richie was (surpassed only by Virgil) one of Hotstreak's favorite targets.

Surprisingly, no blow came. Richie pried his eyes open to see Hotstreak examining his face with uncharacteristic scrutiny.

Richie simply couldn't help himself. "I know I'm quite dazzling to look at, but, regardless. Forget to take your medication this morning?"

Displaying a shocking amount of restraint, Hotstreak neither bashed Richie's face in nor roasted him over an open flame. Instead, he reached up with his free hand and swiped under Richie's left eye with his thumb.

Richie did his best to hide the wince. Somehow, he didn't really pull it off.

Hotstreak held the thumb in front of Richie's eyes. Richie knew that it was smeared with make-up (that matched his skin impeccably, he might add) without ever dropping his eyes, but he found continuing to look into Hotstreak's eyes was less than favorable, so he decided to look down just for kicks.

"Either you have way more personal problems than I thought," Hotstreak began, raising an eyebrow expectantly, "or you have one nasty one at home."

Richie did not acknowledge the flush that swept over his face. Was is obvious? Richie had done it a couple times before, and no one had noticed then. Was he out of practice?

"Yeah, so I tried to cover-up a black-eye, Francis. Breaking news, really. It's not like you haven't given me your fair share of these." Richie found his sarcasm pretty acceptable. It fooled most people.

Hotstreak locked eyes with Richie, and Richie suddenly started to feel the fear in the bottoms of his feet that should have been there from the start, itching him to run away, fight or flight instincts taking over. "Please. You may be able to fool your little girlfriend _Virgil Hawkins_-" Hotstreak said the name with such disgust that even Richie was a little taken aback "-but that shit won't work on me. You and I both know that most black-eyes don't warrant a full make-over." Hotstreak sneered a little, but, to the boy genius's infinite surprise, he let go and backed out of Richie's space.

"That's a pretty good job you did, but covering it up only makes it worse. Sure, there'll be questions, but getting caught with make-up is a sure sign. Anyway, you might actually get some cred out of the deal."

Hotstreak started to walk away, his strides screaming "Don't mess with me".

Richie breathed a little sigh of relief, daring to hope that he wasn't going to receive a beating from Hotstreak. If Hotstreak's words made Richie uncomfortable, he damn well wasn't going to let the young meta-human know it.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," he called to the retreating form.

Hotstreak didn't even turn around. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Four-eyes."

Richie shrugged off the fence, deciding that it would be smarter to get the hell out of dodge before Hotstreak regained his sanity.

Still, he couldn't resist, "Geez, man, didn't even smash my face in. What's gotten into you?" He didn't say it very loudly, but he had few doubts that Hotstreak heard him.

"Looks like you've been beaten up enough for today."

Richie almost didn't hear the statement, but the second it reached his ears, he felt a knot twisting in his stomach. If Hotstreak noticed, would Virgil?

Richie quickly shook his head free of thoughts, deciding that he would check himself out in the bathroom at school before going to class. He was going to be late, anyway. All else failing, he could say he had a run-in with Hotstreak that morning. It wouldn't even be a lie.


	6. Secrets

]**Word Count: 3400**

**Summary: Sharon had seen this before.**

**Rating: K+**

**Warnings: Homosexual male character. (Although, really, if you need to be warned about that, you're kind of a tool.)**

Secrets (6)

Sharon saw troubled kids all the time. She saw them at the Center; she had gone to High School with them. Hell, she _counseled_ them daily. She was no stranger to the look in a kid's eyes when he was hiding something he thought he couldn't tell anybody. She'd seen the hunched shoulders, the half-hidden winces, the held tongues. Basically, Sharon had seen this before.

"Richie!" Sharon all but shouted as he nearly plowed her down in her own damn living room. "Virgil's not home."

Richie looked at her like he knew _exactly_ where Virgil was (which annoyed Sharon because _she_ didn't know where Virgil ever was) and said, "I know. I just left something here that I need to finish my repairs on Backpa-age. My repairs on the back page of our English project." Richie gave her a big, fake smile and looked a little like he wanted to fall on his own sword. "So, I'll just run up to Virgil's room to grab what I need for our English project and that back page I need to fix that I mentioned before, and I'll be on my merry way."

Sharon grabbed his arm in her vice-like grip before he could escape. This was perfect. "Hold up, Richie. We need to talk." Richie paled (Sharon could actually _see_ the blood drain away from his face). "Calm down, boy! It's just talking." Richie made it look like "talk" was on the same level as "be taken out back and shot."

Richie didn't move on his own, so Sharon had to half-drag him to the living room, where she forced him onto the couch. "Listen, Richie, I know."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His face said differently.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Please, boy. I'm not even half as oblivious as my idiot brother."

Richie scrunched up his eyebrows. "What are you-?"

"It's not that big of a deal, Richie. A lot of people are. I won't judge you for it."

Richie looked sincerely confused for a moment, like what Sharon was saying didn't match up with what Richie excepted (and wasn't _that_ going to give Sharon something to worry over later), but then, all at once, his face broke out into such pure- Well, Sharon had thought he was panicked before, but this was- Richie was hyperventilating. _Literally hyperventilating_.

"Sharon-" gasp "-I don't-" gasp "-I'm not-" gasp "-You can't-" gasp-

"Richie!" Sharon grabbed his arm firmly. He gasped a few mores times before getting his breathing under control, but his hands were still shaking. He raised his eyes up and looked at her, and he looked - He looked like Sharon was holding his heart in her hands and threatening to squeeze.

Sharon felt her gaze grow gentle. She'd done this before. "Richie, it's alright. _I know_." She held one of his hands in hers and hid her wince when he gripped back hard enough to hurt.

"You can't-" Richie swallowed, dropping her hands like they were the enemy and inching away from her. "You can't tell anyone."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, Richie, but you should really tell them yourself." If Richie's face was anything to go by, that wasn't the right thing to say.

"This-" He paused and went cool and calculating like he was thinking something through- _really_ thinking something through. It was so strikingly different to how he'd been acting only moments ago that it gave Sharon chills. "It's not unnatural. Most species practice- From a strictly evolutionary stand point, the lack of procreation should create a predisposition against it, but procreation is hardly the only reason people have sex. In fact, since mankind has brought itself to the edge of over-population, it actually makes more sense now. And I've never been very religious, so I don't have to worry about that, but-

"You see, these would all be very good reassurances if I was _worried about myself_, but I'm not. I used to-" Richie clenched his fists "-I used to think it was wrong or dirty or whatever people think, but I don't anymore. I got over it, but people still- People will be freaked out. _Virgil_ will be freaked out. I don't want that, Sharon. I couldn't deal."

"I'm not saying Virgil's going to understand right away. He's still Virgil, and he can be so _thick_ sometimes, but he'll always be your friend." Sharon snorted. "Hell, if there was any way to stop you two being friends, I would have found it years ago."

Richie was shaking his head. "You don't understand. If my dad-" Full stop.

_There it is_, Sharon thought grimly. "What about your dad, Richie?"

Richie trained his eyes on his shoes and shook his head again. "He'd kill me."

"Richie, he wouldn't-"

"No." Richie looked up, and there was a bright fire in his eyes. "He would. He wouldn't understand. He- Fuck, Sharon,-"

"Language!"

"-he could barely handle my best friend being _black_."

Sharon remembered that. She remembered Virgil coming home, hurt and confused. She also remembered the panic the next day when no one knew where Richie was. "You're father was terrified when you ran away, Richie. He loves you."

Richie sighed, sounding more resigned than anything. "I know he loves _me_, but he won't love _this_. You should've heard him- This guy at work, his son is- Well, my dad comes home saying, 'No son of mine would ever _dare_. I'd beat it out of him if I had to.' I don't think he knew I could hear, but- There's this grate next to my bed..."

Sharon could picture it- Richie, sitting in his room, hearing all the horrible things his father said. For years. For his entire life. Suddenly, it was hard to swallow. "You can't hide forever, Richie."

Richie sighed again, aggravated this time. Richie was displaying a larger emotional range in this one conversation that Sharon had seen him use the entire time he and Virgil had been friends. "Stop saying my name. I've read that psychology textbook, and it isn't helping." Sharon wanted to knock him over the head for snapping like that, but she could let it slide this once. "Anyway, I don't have to hide _forever_. I only have one- Alright, fine one _and a half_ years left."

Sharon fixed him with a look. "Then what? Your dad will still be your dad."

Richie snorted and muttered, "'Cause me and him talk so much now, when we're under the _same_ _roof_."

Sharon continued like he hadn't interrupted her. "And Virgil will still be Virgil." That one hit closer to home. "Look, Ri-" Richie shot her a look. "Look, I'm not trying to force you to do anything. When, who, and how are all up to you. I'm just telling you that it's not healthy to keep it locked up, and there are people in your life who will be fine. Some who already are."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "Thank you. For not telling and for- Well, just for everything. I just- I can't. I just can't."

Sharon felt the words sink low in her gut. "Just remember that I'm always around to talk." Richie's shoulders sagged in relief. Sharon would let it go, for now.

"Where's Richie?" Sharon heard her father ask and was a little surprised how unsurprisingly normal it was for her father to ask that question. Sharon wanted to point out that Richie didn't actually live with them, but she didn't think it would be appreciated.

"He's not coming over tonight." Virgil sounded a little bitter about that. Sharon half-expected her father to interrogate Virgil about that, but apparently he was giving Virgil his space because Virgil slunk into the living room and plunked down on the couch next to Sharon without another word.

Sharon was a little more nosey. "Well, then, what's wrong?"

Virgil looked up at her, surprised like he hadn't been radiating exasperation for weeks. "What do you mean?"

She sighed and set her book down on the coffee table. "I can't hear myself think over the sound of you moping, so spill. What's going on with you and Richie?"

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms over his chest petulantly, muttering "Ask Richie." Sharon leveled a stern look at him. "He's been distant. For almost a month, really. He's busy with something, but when I ask him about it, he gets all twitchy and then _lies_ to me. It's almost like-"

Virgil cut himself off. Sharon raised an eyebrow at him. "Almost like what, Virgil?"

Virgil ran his hands through his dreadlocks, shaking them out a little like he always did when he was frustrated. "It's almost like he's been seeing someone." Virgil huffed in irritation. "But if that's the case, I don't know why he won't just _tell me_. I mean- Richie can date whoever he wants to date, but I'd at least like to meet her. When me and Daisy were going out, I talked to Richie about her all the time. We even all hung out. We tried to double with Frieda and him, but that never seemed to take."

Sharon knew why Richie wasn't saying anything to Virgil, of course, but she'd promised Richie, and this was something he deserved to do on his own. "If that's the case, I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready."

Virgil launched himself off the couch, pacing in front of her. "That's just it. I don't get what there's to be _ready_ for. Is he ashamed of her? Is he ashamed of me?"

He said the last part almost too quietly for her to hear, but she did, and she pulled him down into a quick hug before settling him next to her. "Richie would never be ashamed of you, baby brother. You're his best friend."

Virgil rubbed a hand against his forehead, anger bleeding into dejection. "I just keep thinking of Richie's dad, you know? I didn't notice that I never went over to Richie's house - that I'd never even _met_ his father - until suddenly there it was. Then, after everything that went down- I just figured we were beyond that now."

Sharon laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little. "It's not gonna be like that time. I'm sure of it."

Virgil smiled at her for a second, but then he was standing up and walking away, a definite slump to his shoulders. "I have some stuff to do tonight. I'll see you later."

"What's his name?" Virgil and her father were out picking up dinner, and Sharon was alone with Richie for the first time since her confrontation.

Richie froze for a second, every muscle in his body tensing, but then he remembered that they'd already discussed this and relaxed almost immediately. Until, of course, her words sunk in, and then Richie was blushing like the pale, white teenager he was. It was almost comical to watch.

He looked torn between refusing to answer and just giving in, but Sharon was staring him down. Richie never had a chance.

"Michael," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Sharon "hmm"ed, raising an eyebrow she knew he could _feel_ because he still wasn't looking but his shoulders slumped a little more. "You know, Virgil thinks you're ashamed of him."

That perked Richie up pretty fast. "Ashamed? Of Virgil? That's ridiculous! He's my best friend. He's practically my brother. Of course I'm not ashamed of him."

_Good answer_, Sharon thought smugly because she did care about Richie, but Virgil was her little brother. "He doesn't know what to think. He can't think of any other reason his best friend would neglect to introduce him to someone he's dating."

Richie rubbed a hand on his forehead and Sharon was reminded of when her brother had done the same thing. "It's not even that serious."

"Would you tell him if it was a girl?" Richie didn't answer, but that was answer plenty. "You have to talk to him, boy. Even if you don't tell him everything, you have to tell him something."

Richie sighed. "I know. I will. I'll tell him- something."

Richie obviously told Virgil something, indeed, if Virgil easing up on the I'm-not-moping-Sharon and Richie starting to come around the house more again were anything to go by. Richie also obviously didn't tell Virgil everything if Virgil's teasing, "Say hi to Mary-Jennifer-this-would-be-so-much-easier-if-you-just-told-me-her-real-name for me" was anything to go by.

Of course, there was still tension, and a hell of a lot of it. Sharon would walk in on tight silences where she was sure Virgil was trying to get Richie to open up and Richie was just not having it. Then, one day, Richie sought her out.

"We broke up," were the first words out of his mouth, and Sharon briefly wondered why Richie hadn't gone to Virgil (or really anyone else) before realizing that she was probably the only person Richie _could_ talk to about this.

Sharon decided that she could stand to play concerned almost-older-sister for a few minutes. "What happened?"

Richie dropped his head into his hands and sunk down onto the couch. "It was my fault. He told me he was tired of being my 'dirty little secret'-" Richie actually used air-quotes "-and that if I didn't tell everyone, we'd be over. I got a little angry and may have said something along the lines of, 'You're not worth it' which he didn't take kindly to at all."

Sharon snorted. "I can't imagine why."

Richie pretended like he didn't hear her. "There was a lot of yelling and name-calling (on both sides, I'd like to point out). By the end of it, we weren't together anymore."

"Are you alright?"

Richie blew out a harsh stream of air. "He wasn't wrong. I mean- I'm angry with him for giving me some stupid ultimatum when he knew- when I'd made it perfectly clear that I- But he wasn't wrong."

Sharon rubbed a hand across his shoulders. "It doesn't have to be all or nothing, Richie. Start small."

Richie pulled away from her, but for just a moment she'd thought- "No. Just-" And then he was gone.

Sharon instantly knew that something was wrong when Virgil walked through the door. He looked shell-shocked, like a leprechaun had just punched him in the gut and he was trying to make sense of it all with the air knocked out of him. She was worried.

"Virgil, what happened? What's wrong?"

Virgil turned his head toward her, but his eyes didn't find her. "Richie and me- We were arguing - God, I don't even remember what about - and then he- He said something, and I thought he was joking, but-" Virgil closed his eyes and rubbed at them viciously.

Sharon felt cold. "What did he say?" She didn't really need to ask.

"He just- I don't even know where it came from. He said something about how I wouldn't notice if a clue came up and bit me, and I yelled, and then he-"

Sharon shook his shoulder when he stopped talking. "Little brother?"

Virgil finally looked at her, and she wished he hadn't. "He said he was gay, Sharon."

"And what did you say?"

Virgil's face went blank for a second, then his hand rubbed across the back of his neck. "I didn't know what to say."

"What _did_ you say?"

He wasn't looking at her anymore. "I was so shocked. I-"

"Virgil!" Sharon demanded, a distinct snap in her voice because- God, she'd told him to tell Virgil. She'd told him over and over, but she hadn't meant like _that_, and Virgil just- "_What did you say_?"

"I didn't say anything. I just left."

That's not how Richie would see it. "Oh, little brother."

"What?" Virgil was angry now. "_I didn't know what to say_. He just dropped it on me out of nowhere. That's not the kind of thing you just spring on someone. What was I supposed to do?"

Sharon flicked his ear to get him to calm down. It worked surprisingly well. "You, Virgil, were supposed to do pretty much anything but _that_." Virgil looked appropriately chastised. "Did you even think what that would look like from his prospective? Virgil Ovid Hawkins, he probably thinks you hate him."

"I could never hate him!" Virgil looked positively sick at the thought. "God, Sharon, I could never hate him. He's my best friend, practically my brother, I just- I didn't know what to do. I never thought Richie would be _gay_."

Sharon wanted to punch him a little, but she refrained because she knew this was hard for him. Virgil was kind and nonjudgmental and certainly not bigoted, but he wasn't like Sharon. He hadn't seen this before, and it scared him more than just a little. Still- "Virgil, whatever you may be feeling right now, just remember that Richie has probably felt that way, too. However hard it is for you, remember that it's harder for Richie, and that right now, while you have me and dad to talk to, he doesn't have _anyone_."

Virgil was off the couch then, hands clenching and unclenching nervously. "I should go.- Talk to him, explain myself," he said in a rush. Sharon smiled as he literally ran out the door.

Turned out, Richie was good at avoiding people when he put his mind to it because Virgil returned hours later with only a reserved head shake as answer. This pattern continued for three weeks. Richie wasn't _gone_, he just wasn't quite _available_. Virgil swore that even when he managed to get Richie alone (which was, apparently, not often), Richie would come up with an epic distraction to keep them from talking.

Part of Sharon was worried that Richie would never sit still long enough for Virgil and him to finally talk, but part of Sharon was actually glad that Virgil was getting time to sort through his head because, even though he'd jumped off the couch intending on making things right with Richie, Sharon had been plagued by worries that Virgil would just stick his foot in his mouth.

Richie couldn't dodge Virgil forever, though.

Sharon wasn't there when the actual confrontation took place, but she imagined there was more yelling and then something happened to make them realize what idiots they were being. That was usually how Virgil and Richie resolved their conflicts. But Virgil and Richie didn't talk about what happened, so Sharon never found out for sure.

All Sharon knew was that one day she was sitting on the couch reading when Virgil stormed in, frustrated from another day of Richie's evasion tactics, and the next day Virgil and Richie walked in together, laughing at something that was probably incredibly nerdy and not even that funny to start with.

Sharon managed to grab Virgil alone for a minute and asked. "What happened? Are you two alright? What did you say? What did he say?-"

"Sharon! It's fine." Virgil cast a look over his shoulder at where Richie was in the kitchen. "We're fine."

Eventually everything settled back down to normal. Then, a few weeks later, Richie told Mr. Hawkins he was gay, and he had smiled and thanked Richie for telling him, but Sharon had always suspected that her father had figured it out even before she had.

Richie didn't tell his parents until he moved out of the house, but it even then wasn't pretty. His father did _not_ murder him with a dull kitchen knife (which Richie had insisted was a very likely possibility), but he did stop talking to Richie for a year. It was awful, and Richie had used every opportunity to tell Sharon "I told you so."

That was another conversation that Sharon never got to hear, but, based on the state of Richie's eye and fist afterwards, she wasn't sure she wanted to have.

It wasn't until years later at a Christmas party (even Richie's father had come, if reluctantly) that Richie pulled Sharon to the side and said, "Thank, for what you did for me back when I wouldn't tell Virgil I was gay. I know I didn't tell him in the ideal way, but I don't think I would have done even that if it hadn't been for you, so thank you."

Sharon felt pretty satisfied after that.


	7. A Chance Encounter

**Word Count: 260**

**Summary: It was the last place Richie had expected him.**

**Rating: K**

A Chance Encounter (7)

"Watch it!"

The voice sounded eerily familiar, but Richie had much more important things to think about. Like the mountain of popcorn he'd just spilled all over the floor. All over the floor _and_ all over- "Hotstreak?"

The guy pulled down his baseball cap and buried his face deeper into his trench coat, but it was definitely- "What are you…?" Then Richie noticed the giant cut-out stationed next to them, and it all clicked. "Did you just watch _Wreck It Ralph_?"

Hotstreak clenched his hands, and Richie could have sworn that the temperature spiked at least ten degrees. Hotstreak also sniffed a little, and Richie could swear there were some-

"Are you _crying_?"

Hotstreak's face turned nearly the same color as his hair, and he raised a threatening fist towards Richie's face, "I swear to God, Foley, if you so much as-"

"I am bad, and that's good. I'll never be good, and that's not bad," Richie squeaked out, stumbling one step back from Hotstreak's fiery temper. "I already saw it twice."

Hotstreak eyed him hotly for a moment, like he was contemplating whether or not bashing Richie's head in was still worth the effort. Finally, after what Richie swore were the longest five seconds of his life, Hotstreak lowered his fist. "There's no one I'd rather be than me."

And then he was walking away, shoulders hunched up to his ears to keep anyone from recognizing (or _wreck_-ognizing) him again.

Richie stood, rooted to his spot, for a few minutes, staring off in the direction Hotstreak had gone. "Huh."


End file.
